


We move forth.

by Doitsuki



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Longing, M/M, Master/Apprentice, Reunion, Sequel, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: sequel to 'We make do' and this one is set during the Warcraft expansion LEGION where Khadgar, regardless of loneliness or emotional baggage, has things to do. But, so does Medivh.Requested.





	

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in about two hours, so yeah that creative flow HIT  
> haha the first half of this is totally appropriate to skim the waters of reddit and battle.net but the rest is all AYY LMAO RAVENTRUST
> 
> part 1: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8245214

It was at the third coming of the Legion that Khadgar despaired, though he did not show it. Between himself and the rest of the Kirin Tor, Leaders of both Horde and Alliance, and the Champions of each side, the fate of Azeroth rested. Well, in as restful a state as it could when demons were rendering the entire place LIT AF and doing their best to exterminate all life. Khadgar could see the unnatural green fires burning outside the Nighthold from where he sat in the Purple Parlor, high up in the Violet Citadel’s central tower. He sighed. What was there to be done when the next raid tier was not yet released? ‘ _Wait’,_ he thought. ‘ _Wait and see.’_ But he did not like waiting and seeing one bit. Every day, the destruction intensified. Heroes turned away from mythic beasts and evils, unable to comply with their hastily scrabbled together comrades. The Horde Champion was out picking flowers in Suramar and making absolute bank on the Orgrimmar auction house, whereas the Alliance equivalent had been on a mission to find a black dragon.

 _‘The world has gone mad.’_ Khadgar thought, sinking his teeth into the massive cream puff in his left hand. Sitting around and eating his feelings was something few knew he did, and he preferred to keep it that way. In truth, he was also hiding. Warden Maiev Shadowsong had returned last week from Black Rook Hold, imprisoned by a band of adventurers who had cleaned the place out of ghosts, demons, felbats and one very arrogant dreadlord. Now, Maiev counted herself among the leaders of Azeroth’s defense and had somehow pushed her way into the Kirin Tor’s meetings. Always she remained armored, and always she managed to interrupt Khadgar, who she respected little more than a piece of mouldy bread. Khadgar could not often look into her eyes, or at the green slits of light that passed for eyes through her helmet. She blamed him for _everything_ , and he half believed it. And this week, Maiev was _pissed._ The message of the Naaru Xe’ra had been discovered and at first mention of Illidan, Maiev had done a sick backflip out the nearest window and went outside to scream. Khadgar was in no mood to deal with her, and sat up on the chaise he was laying on. An idea struck, one that often hammered at the inside of his mind until he ached to form the spell and leave. He wanted to teleport to Karazhan and busy himself with checking the wards, looking after any matters that had gone awry, and perhaps sleeping for an entire day in Medivh’s chambers. Early, youthful memories drew him to that place and when he arrived late that afternoon, he immediately sensed something different. Something… familiar, but not entirely. Medivh’s essence floated about, yet it missed an aspect Khadgar had learned to recognize as the Fel. Levitating at top speed up through the tower, Khadgar sought with extended senses until he came to a wide, open room with dusty floorboards and cold grey walls. Bookshelves and cobwebs merged here along with unused desks and literary debris on the floor. In the center of it all with a massive stick in one hand was Medivh.

“!!” Khadgar’s breath caught in his throat, and when Medivh turned to him he squeaked softly. Medivh wore his old black and red robes with the feathers and embroidered hood just as Khadgar remembered. The stick he used to scribe a sigil into the ground was just an ordinary bit of wood, given immense power by the way Medivh channeled his will into it. And this was no illusion. Medivh’s breath clouded in hot, magical particles before his weathered face, and he looked like he hadn’t trimmed his beard in years. It only made him look more majestic and, well, like Jesus to Khadgar. The Archmage saw cool green eyes flick to the staff he wielded, and then Medivh smiled.

“It’s good to see you again, Young Trust. Oh… but you are not so young any more.”

“Master…?” Khadgar’s free hand (with a trace of powdered sugar on it) flicked up to touch the collar around his neck, and Medivh’s gaze followed. The former Guardian’s eyes narrowed just a little, his brows rising in slight confusion. Of course… he did not know of Khadgar’s tendency to make this particular movement in times of crisis. And oh, what a crisis this was! Here stood Medivh, the supposedly dead Guardian of Azeroth, wearing no illusions about himself and wielding three quarters of the power Khadgar had ever seen him use.

Khadgar’s voice was hollow and weak. “How?”

Medivh shrugged. “The world needed me, so I came.” He winked, doing a little shimmy with his lower body. “And so did you.”

“The world doesn’t need you half as much as I do.” said Khadgar, words tumbling from his quivering lips unbidden. He reached out with one hand and closed the distance between himself and Medivh, the magically inscribed sigil on the floor undisturbed. “Master, there’s so much I…” He paused, inches away from touching Medivh’s feathered shoulder. Medivh stuck his neck out a bit like a pigeon reaching for a piece of fallen pie crust, eyes imploring Khadgar to continue.

“Go on?”

“I…” Khadgar’s voice now trailed off, stuck in his throat and escaping only as slightly rasped breaths. “Ghh…” He lowered his head. Medivh put down his drawing stick and cupped Khadgar’s face in one hand, forcing the Archmage to look at him. His expression softened as he looked into glistening, sky-blue eyes.

“You have become powerful, my apprentice. And you have been through much.”

Khadgar gazed at Medivh through lowered lids. For all Medivh’s perception, he did not seem to know how much his bare touch was affecting Khadgar. The slightest bit of stubble coated Khadgar’s jaw and Medivh’s fingers caused the miniscule bristles to tingle. The pads of his fingers were soft, his nails clean and short, and his touch held both strength and gentle care as he stroked Khadgar’s cheek.

“Young Trust…” Just as Medivh went to ask if Khadgar was paying attention (as he looked like he’d just smoked nine hundred pounds of felweed, utterly relaxed), the Archmage whined softly. Medivh’s fingers trailed down and touched the edge of Khadgar’s collar, causing those watery blue eyes to come back into focus, parted lips to suddenly purse. “Oh, you… Didn’t I tell you in a vision one day to let go?”

Khadgar shook his head, then yelped as Medivh tugged on the collar to bring him closer. “Ghk! M…master… I could never forget you.”

“Why?” Medivh furrowed his dark brows. “You have had your entire life to better yourself, to move on, to find your own reasons to fight, be they noble goals for eternity or the fleeting love of a pretty girl.”

“I don’t want noble goals or pretty girls.” Khadgar muttered, pouting without even knowing it. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you, Master…”

Medivh took a moment, then a moment more, tightening his grip on the leather collar between his fingers. He couldn’t believe Khadgar still had the thing, after over thirty years…

Suddenly he became aware of the immense strain on Khadgar’s face, and realised that he was trying not to cry.

“What’s wrong with you?” Medivh asked gently, in the least accusing manner he could. “What are you hiding?”

Khadgar summoned magical strength to even his voice, to loosen the tightness in his throat, though it was more difficult than pushing a wine bottle into a virgin asshole.

“You… do not feel the same… do you…?”

Medivh sighed. “I don’t understand. You were my apprentice, my-”

“I still am!” Khadgar spluttered, emotion clouding his spellcraft. Medivh interrupted him right back, less than a breath after he’d spoken.

“You have surpassed me, Young Trust. Or should I say, _Archmage_?”

“No, please, don’t…” Khadgar dropped Atiesh and gripped the front of Medivh’s robes, eyes manic with distress. “Please… don’t be so formal with me…” Tears trickled down the sides of Khadgar’s shapely face, shimmering with mana. His power was escaping him, and he _hated_ himself for being so emotional in front of his Master. But there was little he could do to keep himself proper when the man who had consumed his thoughts for the past thirty years was standing right in front of him. Rejecting him. Or so Khadgar thought.

“Come here.” said Medivh, and without waiting for Khadgar to move, wrapped his arms around the shivering Archmage. He was as strong and warm as Khadgar remembered, but the sliver of memory now burst into a new connection, remade thrice as strong as it had ever been. Khadgar was too tall to bury his face into Medivh’s chest and thus hid in his Master’s neck, stretching Medivh’s hood to accommodate both heads. Medivh quickly cast his hood back, robbing Khadgar of the warmth and darkness of being in such an intimate, enclosed space. Khadgar sobbed into Medivh’s neck, helpless against his own sorrow.

“I… I’ve missed you so… so much…” His voice reached heights of which could be likened to his teenage self and Medivh was struck by a sudden memory. One where Khadgar had seen a particularly frightening vision and had tried to explain through tears and terror to his Master what it was. Medivh had held him then, as he did now, and stroked his hair, whispering words of logic and sense and mage-specific comfort… no, Khadgar-specific comfort. Medivh had always cared for him. And now, he threaded thick fingers through silvery-white hair and remembered how he had cursed it to be so. His chest twisted, the feeling as if the threads of muscle in his pectorals were drawn together and warped in all directions. The cold energy left him at his command.

_‘No. You have to be strong. For him.’_

Opposite thoughts bombarded Khadgar’s head. _‘No! This is wrong, you’re so **weak** in front of him, he’ll want nothing to do with you now, you’re supposed to have passed this… this childlike instability, you’re a damned war veteran, the leader of the Kirin Tor, and just look at you…!’_ He pushed his face a little further until it almost hurt, and he slipped a bit because of his eyeballs emptying their moisture just about everywhere. Medivh felt… sticky, and petted Khadgar as he wept. There was no banshee wailing, no rambling words. Just choked breaths and feeble gasps, and the sound of a man who was utterly broken. Medivh could hear, see and feel Khadgar’s magic draining out of him with every passing second.

“Stop that…” Medivh muttered. “Young Trust. I want you to explain to me…” He’d barely lifted Khadgar’s head out of his neck to observe him when the Archmage smooshed their faces together. Anything to prevent Medivh from getting a good look at his reddened eyes and contorted face. Medivh responded with a shocked grunt and felt hot lips against his own, trembling like a dying snake. An unexpected impulse flooded his body and he grasped Khadgar firmly. Khadgar arched into the touch and there was a sudden flurry between them, Khadgar fisting Medivh’s hair in one hand and kissing him with ancient, passionate desperation, while Medivh tried to support him with a hand behind his back. Khadgar stumbled backwards into a desk and going with the momentum, Medivh followed him, looming over his vulnerable form. Khadgar forced the clasps of his own robes apart in an instant, but Medivh grabbed his hand and watched him struggle with great sadness in his eyes.

“You should not be like this…” he muttered, as if he had traveled through time to discover a world turned upside down. “I… I wanted better… for you.” Here he saw a man with great potential held back as no mage should be by emotion, emotion so strong it drove him to bend over backwards and begin stripping himself bare. As Khadgar began to protest, Medivh spoke his name firmly and saw how the Archmage lowered his head in submission. That completely autonomous response pierced Medivh’s heart, infusing him with the knowledge that Khadgar had never truly changed. He was still as obedient and desperate for approval as ever. And now, Medivh understood why.

Khadgar _loved_ him, in all possible ways.

 _‘How could I have been so blind?’_ he thought, the answer coming to him before his inner voice could even finish considering it. _‘Sargeras… he warped my thoughts, my perception. Of course…’_ Then he closed his eyes. _‘He must’ve made me act so… ugh, in such ways that my apprentice had reason to hide his feelings from me. Damn it…!’_ Again he lamented his possession by the demon lord, a thing he was eternally salty about and bemoaned often. Khadgar peered up at him, flushed and struggling to breathe. It was Medivh’s will that kept him from babbling like the desperate little magelet he used to be, for Medivh wanted to see the strong, capable Archmage his apprentice had become. But Khadgar only looked at him, begging silently with his huge, glistening eyes. Medivh had never felt such pity before in his life. Still with his hands pinning Khadgar’s wrists to the desks, he asked a question.

“What are you really here for?”

Khadgar bit his bottom lip. “Knowledge.”

“Then let me help you-”

“I won’t be able to concentrate!” Khadgar immediately regretted his outburst, but it needed to escape before it destroyed him. “Master, I…” He parted his legs. Medivh pointedly looked down and sighed.

“Really?”

Khadgar nodded. And then, he saw a change. Medivh’s face darkened, his eyes glowing with a mixture of magic and mischief. It was no act – Medivh was truly getting into this so he could best satisfy Khadgar’s needs.

“I have watched over you, Young Trust. I know what you want.”

Khadgar’s eyes widened. Had Medivh really seen him making up scenes of narcissistic debauchery in his tower, alone and delusional? It seemed he had. The Archmage winced, and tried to move. But Medivh held him still, and Khadgar was forced to relinquish what little control he hoped to have in the situation. Medivh smirked then, and Khadgar felt as if his muscles had turned to jelly. The older mage leaned in close, whispering just inches away from Khadgar’s face. “You’ve been a naughty boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> near the end i couldn't figure out how to write the smutty business so I just ended it and went back to farming honor in Tol Barad lmao


End file.
